A Prince's weakness
by NurseDuskie
Summary: One at a time they leave. The good ones, the bad ones. I wish I was one of them, riding off on an adventure. Saving maidens, saving lives. Slaying demons, slaying dragons. I could fight, I could do what any other knight could do.


A princely weakness

One at a time they leave. The good ones, the bad ones. I wish I was one of them, riding off on an adventure. Saving maidens, saving lives. Slaying demons, slaying dragons. I could fight, I could do what any other knight could do.

But I'm stuck here. Bound by the duties of my station. My father tells me of honesty, of responsibility. He wants me to be moral and just. I'll try but sometimes….I want to lash out, hit them. When they call me weak, pampered. I want to show them how much stronger I am.

They might bow when duty calls but outside the hallowed halls they sneer, and laugh. They call me weak.

I'm not weak.

*

I had to watch when the ropes were tightened around the necks of men wronged. A lord looking for a scapegoat for his misdeeds. My father sentenced them to hang. To die. I wondered briefly if he knew of the man's innocence, his lord's betrayal. I didn't ask; after all, he's the king.

The people were cheering. There was nothing more exciting than a hanging, to them. I might have preferred a pretty dance or sunny day…

Then the man looked at me, rope caught around his neck. Such sadness, such anger. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I try to tell him, to make him forgive me.

Forgive me.

*

I must marry. It is my duty. There are many courtiers. Young, eligible, beautiful girls fit to be queen. I hate them. Instead, I go for a walk. I don't run, my father's guards follow me. The sky is blue. It hurts yet my lips curl into a smile. The sky is blue! Surely nothing can be so bad when the heavens show us pure cerulean simplicity.

Then I see her. Miah. Not beautiful or coy. She doesn't dress to perfection or tighten her corset to show off her womanly attributes, though she has none to speak of. Brown eyes and warm brown hair, she is nothing to look at. And there is always a book in her arms.

I love her instantly.

*

I am married. Miah and I are wed. That must mean I am king. I recite the pact, vowing true honor, valor. To be a good sovereign to the people. There is cheering, dancing, drinking. My father smiles outwardly but I can see he is worried. He knows that I will fail, the _king_ believes I will fail. I am only seventeen.

Miah sits beside me, stiff and uncomfortable. I look at her. She clutches my hand. We force aching, rigid smiles that pass for joy. I love her, she understands. The knights sling their arms around drunken slatterns- oh sorry, the 'Young, eligible, beautiful courtiers'. They were still smirking. I didn't care…

Miah was smiling at me.

*

I am crying. Stupid salty tears leaking down my cheeks as humiliation swamps me. I must not cry, yet I cannot stop. Miah strokes my back, my hair. She whispers comforting nonsense. Perhaps I cry for her kindness.

Father is sending me off to war. Well, perhaps not sending. It's my _duty_ after all. I'm surprised that already I am bitter of mind, and heart. I can fight, I learnt as a boy. I am a knight, I can lead an army.

Miah cries as she tightens the straps of my armor. I almost feel my breastplate rusting, I long for the metal to crumple from my body. Willing my bones to follow.

I kiss Miah one last time.

*

I am taunted by my fellow knights. When I slip or stumble they laugh. When I struggle to lift my sword after a day of practicing and riding they snort, smug, handsome faces twisted in spite.

I ignore them, I am their king.

When we saw the enemy, I almost fell to my knees and prayed. We were outnumbered, outmatched, outscored. My men muttered under their breath about fear as a weapon. I wondered whether they meant we utilize our fear… I couldn't see how.

Saints save us.

*

We rode at the enemy, cursing our hearts own tread. I could see nothing but the shining helmets of the invaders. My hand was sweaty on the rapier. The reins were damp. My face was wet, as I was sure every one of my men's was. The second before we clashed—I loved every man, every knight, who' scorned me, as a brother.

Agony. Breathlessness. Splintering metal. Screams. I felt myself being torn as I cut a swath through the enemy. Blood soaking into the ground, I suspect bloodred flowers would bloom over the graves of any killed here.

A blade slid into my side. So easily, so smoothly. I didn't feel a thing, not even as it was withdrawn then shoved into my ribs. I didn't scream. My one moment of bravery and I doubted anyone cared.

For one moment, a second, I was noble.

*

Blood was oozing out my mouth, my chest, my heart. I felt no pain, no anguish. But I was dying, and that age old fear came slamming back into my stomach. Tears once more trickled down my face. I remembered the man I watched hang, his neck cracking. I had asked for his forgiveness. Why? In the face of death—I would have spat at my feet.

I thought of Miah and my heart clenched in pain at the thought of my wife. Odd that I had such time when I was in death's grip.

Arms wrapped around me, solid and real. I forced my head to turn. My knights looked down at me solemnly, bloody, beaten, alive. I almost smiled. One by one they bowed their heads. I coughed.  
You honor us, they said, whispered. So sad. I forgave them. I forgive you.

But I'm dying, shouldn't I at least struggle to tell them? Shouldn't I try to get up? I should do something, but...

I am weak.

*

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